The Warden
by valiasedai
Summary: Shara Amell leaves the Tower with Duncan, sights set on more... immediate concerns.
1. The Warden

Shara couldn't help staring at Duncan. It had been so long since she'd seen anyone else with Rivaini blood in them that seeing one now was nothing short of shocking. She didn't think the man was full-blooded, but he had enough to make his parentage clear. She wanted to ask him if he knew what it was like, wondered if he'd seen the same places she could vaguely remember travelling as a child. Her parents had been merchants, both Rivaini by birth, and both followed the Qun enough to be considered adherents, but they were fairly lax in their application when it suited them. The moment she'd shown an affinity for magic her mother had insisted on taking her as far away from the followers of the Qun as they could manage, afraid Shara would be taken and caged with the other mages born under the Qun. The Tower in Ferelden had been her mother's choice, and so she'd been raised a mage, an Adrastian and knew little of her native culture. They hadn't been appalled by her use of magic, only fearful that others would harm her for it. That, at least, was something she could thank them for – she'd heard too many tales of horrified parents who immediately cast their children at the mercy of the nearest village Chantry, cursing their name and the magic that sang in their blood. Still, it was not an easy thing for a child of six to be torn from her parents and thrown into a land with a strange language and an even stranger religion.

"You can stop staring and ask me questions if you like." Duncan hadn't looked over his shoulder, but she knew he was sharp enough to have caught her staring each morning and night in the three days since leaving the Tower. He was handsome, and he moved with a grace as peculiar as his armor, not at all a bad companion if you had stare at one person's backside for a couple of weeks. He'd pressed hard, but he hadn't set a pace too difficult for her to keep up.

Clearing her throat, she tried to sound calm and unsurprised, even if he _was_ slightly intimidating. "I couldn't help wondering if you are a Rivaini as well."

That question stopped Duncan in his tracks, though he didn't turn. He was quiet for several moments before he spoke, his voice thick. "My mother was."

Shara caught the slightest edge of grief in her voice and instantly regretted asking. He wasn't a young man, but he wasn't old either, and she knew that even deaths long past could hurt. Her own mother had passed away when she was ten, and her father had succumbed to plague in Antiva City only a year prior. She'd deeply regretted not being able to see them once more, and it was only with her father's death that she had felt resentment towards the restrictions of the Tower. Niall had soothed it all away, remind her she was lucky to have parents who didn't care if she was a mage. "I... apologize. I didn't mean to pry, I was simply curious."

Duncan _did_ turn to her then, and she could see his eyes veiled. "Have I satisfied your curiousity?" His face was neutral, telling her nothing. Duncan was not an expressive man, but he was never so cold, either.

Ducking her head in the semblance of a bow, she nodded. "Yes. Thank you." Duncan held her gaze a moment before turning without a word, returning to the pace they'd kept each day. She kept up, her eyes no longer staring on Duncan as she tried to focus on everything _but_ him. Tempting as it may be, she _did_ have her limits, and bedding anyone in a position of high responsibility was out of the question. Then again she _had_ bedded Niall when he was her mentor – something nothing short of scandalous had it not been so close to her Harrowing. If Duncan warmed to her, perhaps it wasn't out of the question after all.

* * *

Duncan watched as the mage poked at the stew pot uncertainly. She'd proven an adequate cook, but if pressed she'd insist her food was terrible. She was so confident and self-assured in everything else it was a relief to see there were some areas where she retained humility. _Not that she'll stay humble about her cooking once she gets a taste of Alistair's_. He was fond of the king's bastard, fonder than he should be considering he was such a new recruit, but Duncan couldn't help see Maric in the young man. The sense of humor, the desire to do what was right, the insistence on doing everything himself... Alistair was more naïve than the Maric he'd known, but Maric had been king many years by then. He could easily imagine Maric having the same righteous awkwardness as his son. The thought of his lost king made him sad; Cailan was fine young man, but foolish, all caught in stories. He'd never had a hard lesson and the difficult decisions of running Ferelden had been left to the queen. Frowning, Duncan pushed aside the thoughts of the dead king and the sons he'd left behind. Dinner seemed to be done.

Digging two bowls from his pack, Duncan strode towards the campfire. Shara glanced at him briefly before looking away again. She'd been skittish since her question this morning, not saying a word and jumping anytime he spoke. She dunked the wooden spoon into the pot quickly, splashing a little into the fire with a loud sizzle. She held out a hand, still not looking at him. "It's ready, if you're hungry."

Keeping his eyes on her, Duncan put a bowl in her hand and watched as she filled it. He hadn't expected such a simple question to throw him off guard. It had been years since he'd thought of his mother, and being asked so suddenly had been disconcerting. The young mage may have looked Rivaini, but her accent was pure Ferelden, where his mother's had been a rich Rivaini song.

The bowl, now filled with stew was held towards him. Duncan waited, staring until she turned. Her dark eyes, almost black, fixed on him and it was only then he took it. Her gaze lingered a moment before snatching the other, empty bowl from his other hand. Suppressing a chuckle, Duncan took a seat on the cold, hard ground, crossing his legs beneath him. He was surprised to find Shara do the same – most Fereldens were oddly particular about sitting on the ground, particularly when eating, and he couldn't count the number of times his fellow Wardens had insisted on dragging a fallen log or large rocks into place around the campfire, all while he comfortably sat and watched.

They ate in silence, the mage picking at her food. She'd never acted like this – the nights before she'd been free with speech and her appetite, perfectly content with who she was and how she acted. Irving had let him know ahead of time she could prove distracting to men and women alike. It seemed the girl was rather free with her bed, but that was not something that concerned Duncan. She hadn't turned her charms on him yet and if she wished to bed other Wardens, he had no objections.

Shara put her bowl on the ground in front of her crossed ankles. "I'm sorry if I offended you." She was staring at the half-eaten bowl of stew, and her voice was a quiet whisper barely heard over the crackling of burning wood.

Duncan placed his bowl on the ground, mimicking her, but his was empty. "I was not offended, you merely caught me off guard." She glanced at him, dark eyes wary. "Was there something else you wished to know?"

She hesitated a moment before speaking. "I just... remember very little of Rivaini and wondered if you knew what it's like." She sounded slightly homesick, though Irving had assured him she'd arrived at an age young enough to train thoroughly, despite her being a full two or years younger than the typical candidate for a Harrowing.

He smiled a little, hoping this was a sign she'd come back out of the shell she seemed to have found. "No, I spent time in the Free Marches and Orlais, but Rivaini is a place I have never been. My mother used to speak of it fondly."

Her eyes lit up a little more and she leaned forward eagerly. "I remember it was always warm there, with everything from forests and mountains to wide grasslands. My parents were merchants and traveled frequently, mostly staying in Rivaini, but they made a special trek to Antiva City every three or four years. I was too young to remember, but I've heard it's beautiful."

This was a new side to the recruit; there was none of the smooth confidence that had been her usual mood, nor was there the avoidance of today. Shara was all eager smiles and she had a look on her face as if she could clearly picture it all in her head. She stayed that way a few moments before she realized Duncan was watching her intently. "Sorry, it's just... I'm off that island for the first time in years and years and Ferelden is very different from my memories of Rivaini."

Amused, Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Cold. Wet. Muddy." She wrinkled her nose at the last and shook her head. "It's not _bad_ but it's so... bland. Just earth and sky and plain trees. No flowers trees or hanging vines, no fields of flame-red flowers, or colorful birds. It suits the people, I guess. They're so terribly practical when it comes to pretty things."

With that, Duncan couldn't help but chuckle. She had the right of it – Fereldens were, by and large, practical, but in the end they valued loyalty and honor more than they did practicality. "You must not remember meeting any qunari then. I think they're so far gone into practicality that they've almost come out the other side again." He'd met a few, mostly mercenaries, but even then, they were quiet, sparse with words and deadly with a sword. No breath was wasted, no movement was excessive – all was just as it should be.

"Vaguely. Tall, with eyes that manage to be terrifying and beautiful at the same time. And skin like polished bronze." She went on to tell him of the one she remembered clearly, and a sudden realization struck him. Shara looked very much like the daughter of one of his mother's friends, the eyes so dark they were almost black, nose that managed to be all soft curves even as it gave the face a sense of strength. Her smile was almost the same as well, slightly crooked as if there was some private joke she alone was enjoying. It was disconcerting, seeing it, and he began to wonder if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, or his memory failing him. It had been decades since he'd seen that girl and the memories were fuzzy at best. Shara looked familiar, though, and he couldn't quite shake the disquiet it made him feel.

"Duncan?" Shara was staring at him, brow furrowed in concern. "Are you alright?"

He realized _he'd_ been staring, and nodded slightly. "Yes, I'm sorry, I just got lost in a thought." She quirked an eyebrow and he grasped for something to explain. "I thought I might... warn you, about one of the Wardens." Her eyes widened then, her mouth opening to speak, but Duncan rushed on. "He's the newest Warden, I pulled him out of Templar training. He's not a bad sort, and he shouldn't find any fault with you, but I felt you should be aware."

Shara's jaw was set firmly, and she took a deep breath as if she were trying to reign in her temper. He wouldn't be surprised – Templars thought the worst of mages and the feeling was quite mutual, though in his opinion the mage's had more of a right to assume Templars would do them no favors. "I see. And is he going to treat me like an apostate or a rabid animal? If I have the choice, I'd prefer he treat me like the latter. Animals occasionally get sympathy from Templars. Mages do not."

"No, Alistair would've made a terrible Templar for one reason – he's not a zealot. You don't have to fear him visiting Andraste's Justice on you. Actually, if he treats you oddly it's likely because you're a woman." Shara snorted at him and rolled her eyes, but Duncan shook his head. "Nothing like that. He's... awkward."

The slightest smile twitched at Shara's lips. "Ah. I think I see where _this_ is headed. Has Irving been telling you nasty little truths about me? How I'm found out of my bed as much as I'm found in it?" The confidence was back and she looked as pleased as a cat who'd gotten into the cream.

Letting out a soft sigh, Duncan did his best to keep the reluctance from his voice. "I _do_ think he has more to worry about than you do. I've never had any rules about that sort of thing, and I won't start making them now, but he doesn't know what he's doing." It felt silly, trying to guard Alistair from a woman, but he knew how soft-hearted he was. And he'd seen how easily Maric had fallen for Fiona. _And I've heard of his love for Katriel and Rowan_.

She laughed lightly and shook her head. "Duncan, whatever Irving said, I don't make a practice of despoiling innocents, they're too much work. And I've never touched a Templar, so a would-be Templar shouldn't be too difficult." She fixed him with a wry grin. "I promise I won't despoil your sweet Chantry boy unless he asks and understands exactly what he's getting into."

Grunting noncommittally, Duncan decided it was the best he'd get from her. "Very well." He glanced at the night sky, noting that even the lingering traces of twilight were now gone and the sky was black. "We should get some rest."

The mage laughed lightly. "Oh, _we_ should _indeed_." Duncan raised an eyebrow, but she smiled at him with a look that was pure innocence. "Goodnight, Duncan."

With that, Shara left for her tent, hips swaying _far _more than they did naturally. When Duncan realized his mouth had gone dry, he settled on staying awake for a little longer. The cool night air might clear his head.


	2. The Seduction

They'd been on the road a week and Duncan was quite certain he was going to go mad _well _before they reached Ostagar. Shara still walked behind him, but any time they stopped she was there, hips swaying, and even the simple task of removing the pack from her shoulders was accompanied by entirely unnecessary movements that heated his blood. The girl – _woman_ – was getting under his skin and into his head in ways he wouldn't have thought possible five days past. It seemed his warning about Alistair had given her a new challenge – Duncan – and Maker help him if he wasn't sorely tempted to give in to her subtle attempts at conquest. For all of Irving's warnings, Duncan had been quite certain he'd never had to resist Shara, alone, and as the object of her intentions. His memories of the young mage he'd bedded on his visit with Cailan so _very_ many years ago certainly didn't help deter the way his pulse quickened any time Shara found an excuse to touch him. Whatever the Chantry might say about magic, in bed it had uses that would push the Maker himself beyond control.

A bowl was pressed into Duncan's hands, the smell coming off it heavenly – they'd come across a merchant the day before, and for all the years Shara had spent inside the Tower, it seemed the few years traveling around as the daughter of merchants had granted her excellent haggling abilities. She'd settled on a variety of spices and some fresh vegetables, and they'd eaten well last night. Tonight seemed to be no different. Glancing up at the mage, Duncan smiled. "Thank you, Shara."

Her fingers brushed his and she gave him a slow smile. "I'm happy to help." Turning his attention to his stew, Duncan tried in vain to ignore the way she bent over the stew pot. The teasing had reached the point where even his long-practiced patience was being strained. It had been a few years since he'd bedded a woman, and while it usually hadn't bothered him to go without, having someone so close, so _willing_, was making him strangely twitchy. Taking a deep breath, Duncan scolded himself. _She's a recruit, she's under your command, do _not_ get involved._ Normally it would have been easy enough, but with the nightmares beginning to return and the knowledge he had only months left before he would have to answer his Call, avoiding the lure of a woman who had no expectations of romance was increasingly difficult.

Dinner calmed him, and as he finished, he moved to the pot, ready to head to the small stream they'd camped near, but Shara stood suddenly. "I'll clean it. I've been wanting to bathe anyways." Shooting him a knowing smile, Shara looked Duncan up and down. "If you'd like a wash as well, your presence won't cause me any... undue discomfort."

Gathering up the bowls, spoons and pot, Shara strode towards the small line of bushes that marked the knee-deep stream. It was dark enough that he could stay near the fire and not see anything. He would bathe later, after she was done, and that way- There was a sudden light in the direction of the stream and Duncan let out a quiet groan. Shara had set a small wisp of light, and the silhouette of her now-naked body filled his imagination with images he'd diligently tried to avoid forming.

Undoing his belt as he rose to his feet, Duncan had made up his mind. He'd only be Commander a short while longer and he'd be damned if decorum was going to stand in the way of the willing creature that had taunted and teased him to madness. The game would end – and Shara would be the victor.

* * *

While the pot soaked in the water a ways downstream, Shara combed her fingers through her long dark hair, a nightly ritual, working out the tangles that came with hours of travel on the road. Her soap lay on a rock near the bank, only a pace or two away, but for now she was content where she was – sitting in the stream, water up to her breasts, the small light-spell hovering overhead. The night was much warmer than the ones previously, and the cold water was pleasant. She had to admit disappointment at bathing alone – there'd been a look in Duncan's eyes earlier that – on any other man – would have signaled the end of their resistance, but he had simply remained seated. He'd proven difficult to crack, but it seemed that whatever success she'd had was now gone, covered by that calm exterior he maintained so well.

Leaning back to wet her hair, Shara closed her eyes, letting the water lazily drift over her. A shift in light startled her and when she snapped open her eyes, Duncan was staring down at her, face unreadable in the shadow. Bare as the day he born, the shadows cast by the wisp showed her bits and piece of a body hard, shoulders wide without being stocky, and a strong chest that tapered to a waist and hips that were slim without being overly lean. His skin was covered in scars – many small, though a few were large enough to look as though they had been life-threatening. He either hadn't had a healer, or had a very sloppy one – large gashes were hard to heal smoothly without years of practice or immense talent, but small ones would have been easy fixes, even with her limited ability. However, it was another part of his body that drew the most attention, breaking the smooth line of his shape with the way it stood erect.

Lifting her eyes back to his face, Shara forced herself to suppress the smile from her lips. It seemed she'd won after all. Sitting up straight, Shara took a calming breath as a familiar knot of anticipation curled in her belly. "Duncan." She gave him a nod, and her simple movement seemed to set off whatever had been holding him back. He bent beside her, strong arms scooping her up. It was a surprise, jolting her concentration enough to extinguish the small ball of light hovering above them, and she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he lifted her from the water. He said nothing, simply turning back to the campfire, shifting her in his arms to carry her more easily.

Taking advantage of the neck in front of her, Shara leaned forward to brush her lips from shoulder to the line of his beard. There was no shiver, but she felt a tensing of the muscles in the arms that carried her, and Shara smiled. Angling her head up, she closed her lips over Duncan's earlobe sucking lightly while her tongue played along the soft flesh. That _did_ draw a shudder, and as the trembling began to subside, she nipped lightly. It was enough.

Ignoring the tent he'd bought for her use, Duncan set Shara down by his own bedroll near the fire. He was of a height with her, but still managed to make her feel as though she were looking up at him. One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling Shara tightly against his body, while his other hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. Teeth and lips set to work, nipping, scraping and sucking at the sensitive skin as evidence of Duncan's arousal pressed firmly against her belly. As the hand that hovered near the small of her back sank lower, Shara arched into the Warden's body, the hard resistance of battle-trained muscles an entirely new – and fully appreciated – sensation.

A firm bite at the junction of shoulder and neck drew a loud gasp from Shara, and she felt her tenuous control on her magic shiver. In all of her magical training, emotion had been her flaw, waiting to collapse or expand a spell whenever she lost control. With the sensations Duncan's mouth – and his hand, which now firmly gripped her buttock – was coursing through her, she needed an outlet, needed a place to pour the magic surging inside of her.

As if he could sense her sudden desperation, Duncan released the grip in her hair and withdrew from her just enough. Lifting a hand to his face, Shara ran a finger along the curve of his ear, letting the slightest tickle of magic out as she did. Eyes almost as dark as her own closed, and Duncan caught her palm with a kiss, a soft, shaking breath tickling her skin there. She'd never been with someone who wasn't a mage before – it was something considered a given, there were no formalities, simply the sharing of power between two individuals on equal ground. With Duncan, it was different. Shara knew so many feared magic, and yet he leaned into her touch as quickly as a thirsting man plunged into water.

Swallowing hard, Shara drew her hand beneath Duncan's chin, the beard tickling her hand. He opened his eyes and looked at her, the slightest hint of question behind his gaze. It was _she _who had the question, however, and she let out another small sliver of magic. "May I-"

She was cut off by his lips on hers, his tongue pressing into her mouth greedily as his hips thrust against her. The sudden hunger in his actions drove her to draw him down, each of them reluctant to part bodies as they slowly moved to the bedroll. He continued to press her, but she fought him, shifting her body from beneath him in a way that tested his balance. They tore apart, breaths coming hard and fast, saying nothing while their eyes remained locked, their bodies half-way between crouching and lying down. _She_ had wanted this, and if he wanted the control she so craved, he would have to take it.

Tense moments passed, the slightest movement from one met with an instant reaction from the other. Finally using her advantage, Shara lifter a hand to his neck, catching the nape under her fingertips, and it was _then_ she let the magic loose. Pouring the power she held into the tight bundle of nerves, Shara guided the magic down his spine, settling it at the base before coursing it along the pathways that ran through his body. Duncan collapsed with a low grown, body arching towards her as if yearning for actual touch. With reluctance, she let the torrent of magic subside as she felt him grow close to his fulfillment. It was a trick she'd figured out on her own, one that utilized all the pathways to paralyze or stun, the magic twisted and shaped to find every last nerve and imbue it with pleasure. Holding back was so hard, particularly when Duncan's lips parted with a whisper of her name, but she would not wear him out so soon.

Straddling his waist Shara grinned down at Duncan as he tried to catch his breath, the faintest glow of magic still behind his eyes. For all the Healing mages and their rejuvenation spells, Shara knew the advantage of her way, and she had only _just_ begun.

* * *

Rolling his eyes back in his head, Duncan shuddered as he felt the last of the magic ghost out of his system. Whatever Shara had done, it had made him feel as though every inch of him were being touched in the most sensuous way possible, and any thought he'd previously been capable of was sorely taxed. Here he was, flat on his back, a beautiful woman of twenty hovering over him, and for all his years of experience, Duncan was woefully outmatched. He'd thought that, despite her reputation, age and experience would win out, but he'd been so _very_ wrong. The smile she wore was one of pure pride, and the heat of her was pressed against him in such a way that every breath he took his stomach rose to meet her. He wanted to touch her again, to cup her breasts instead of pressing them to him, her curves just as soft and rich as he'd imagined. His arms – and legs, for that matter – didn't seem to want to move, not after the thorough exhaustion of being held so close to the edge by a simple touch.

Shara was eyeing him, almost looking amused at their position. Shifting his hips in an effort for _something_ to happen, Duncan frowned when she leaned forward, ending the contact between them. The smile was still there, all confidence and satisfaction, and as her lips brushed his ear, Duncan gave out a small grunt of frustration. There was a low laugh, her warm breath tickling the side of his face and he shifted again. Teeth sunk into his earlobe, just hard enough to bring the slightest hint of pain with the pleasure, and more than enough to bring out a soft sigh. The bite only lasted a moment, though, and soon Shara was looking down at him again, eyes managing to hold his gaze even with her body so tantalizingly close. "Tell me what you want, Duncan."

His breath caught in his throat, and Duncan felt a tightening in his chest. This wasn't what he'd intended – Shara had won the game, but he'd been all too intent on winning the battle of wills once the game had been decided. He wasn't one to simply submit to a woman's touch, even one that carried more sensation in a fingertip than most did in their entire bodies. Forcing his pleasure-weakened arms to move, Duncan reached for Shara's hips, meaning to draw her back and over him.

She caught his movements, grasping his wrists in her hands, and as she moved to kiss each one, he felt the familiar tingle of magic surge through his blood until it nestled at the base of his skull, pulsing in a way that pushed him to the edge of madness. The moan that escaped his lips was his own concession of defeat, marked by Shara's delighted laugh. "I asked you a question." Her voice was lower than usual, almost a purr through those delightfully full lips. With that she settled his hands to her breasts, arching her back to press them into his hands.

Cupping her full breasts firmly, Duncan absent-mindedly ran his thumbs over her nipples, hardening them under his touch. Barely trusting himself to speak, he licked his lips, breath quickening as he prepared to answer. Shara's dark gaze held him, taunting him, _teasing_ him, and with that, he confessed.

"I want you." His voice was ragged, uneven, and his words drew a grin. "I want to touch you, _taste_ you." Arching his back, Duncan closed his eyes when his skin met that wet heat between her legs as his every thought focused on the way it would feel around him. "I want to be inside you, please, I-"

Shara's mouth on his cut of the confession that had nearly become a string of desperate pleas. She dominated the kiss, one of her hands pulling the leather thong that bound his hair, and the way her breasts pressed into his hands made him whimper. The kiss was over as suddenly as it had begun, her mouth moving to his chest, teasing one nipple, then the other, teeth nipping at his skin, hands sliding down to hold his hips as she moved down his body, pulling away from his grasp. She moved down him in a long, curving line of licks and nips, her long wet hair trailing along his skin like a flowing river of ink.

It was a few stray tendrils of hair brushing against his arousal that made Duncan jump. A sudden flick of her head moved the strands away, and Shara was grinning up at him, hands, mouth and body all dancing around his erection. He ached for her to touch him, using all of his restraint to keep his hips from bucking towards her. The effort to keep a hold on his body let his mouth run free, and as Shara continued to plant bites and kisses over his skin, he could only form one word. "Please..."

* * *

Everything about Duncan told Shara he was at her mercy, _aching_ for her to do anything more than what she was already doing. His skin prickled under her touch, she could see and taste the thin sheen of sweat from the effort of holding himself still. He even smelled different, the earlier smell of dust and fresh air masked by the pervasive scent of sex. The whispered word which broke from his lips confirmed his need, and Shara gave in to his request.

Soft, velvety skin met her lips as she took him into her mouth. The shuddering response went the full length of his body, and his hands were in her hair, shifting it while he strained his head to watch. Meeting his gaze for a moment, Shara returned to the task at hand, pouring herself into it. Each flick of the tongue, every time she applied more pressure, she drew groans and whimpers, whispered pleas that lost themselves in wordless gasps. She could feel his pulse against her lips, the way it quickened with her movements, the way it began to settle any time she paused. His hips had begun to move, never thrusting, simply grinding against the bedroll in a slow rotation, almost as if he were trying to get away from her ministrations.

There was a sudden gasp and Duncan _was_ trying to get away, a murmured string of pleas running from his lips. "Shara, please-" Duncan blinked and swallowed hard. "Too close..." Disentangling herself from his grasp, Shara sat back on her heels and let the man come to his senses, knowing exactly what her next demand would be.

When he finally seemed to have caught his breath, Shara lay back down beside him, kissing him lightly. His eyes were clouded over with lust, and she stretched out, pressing herself against him, inviting him to stroke her.

He complied, rolling onto his side, free hand tracing the curve of her body from her waist to her knee before his large, calloused hands began teasing the space where her thighs were pressed together. Fingers drifted upward then, brushing over the dark triangle of hair to tease her stomach. Duncan shifted slightly and a leg drifted into the parted space between her calves, sliding upward as he moved towards her. His leg moved higher and she parted her knees for him, smiling as she watched him release a slow, shuddering breath. She, too, needed to be touched, and that hand of his was drifting back down, ready and waiting for the moment she was accommodating.

Drawing one leg up, knee pointing to the night sky, Shara bared herself. The hand darted between her legs, finding her hot and slick, and it was all she could do to restrain her magic. Duncan's mouth closed over hers as two of his fingers pressed inside her, stroking her until they elicited a low groan. He pulled away then, moving down between her legs, withdrawing his fingers from her sex.

Whimpering at the emptiness, Shara shifted to lie on her back, unable to take her eyes from his movements. He sucked one finger and then the other, closing his eyes as he did so, mimicking the expression most made when savoring the delicacy of Orlesian chocolate, or the taste of freshly picked berries covered in cream. As he licked his lips, Shara caught herself doing the same and felt her cheeks heat, not with embarrassment, but with the need for _more_.

When Duncan dipped his head between her legs, Shara closed her eyes, expecting the familiar sensation of tongue and lips against her folds. Instead, she felt the brush of his beard against her thighs, and teeth dragging across her skin. It was enough to draw a reaction out of her, and as she jumped in surprise she felt the low hum of Duncan's laugh against her skin. Raising an eyebrow at him, Shara watched as he move to the other thigh, repeating the action with excruciatingly slow movements, moving along the insides of her legs until she was squirming in frustration, magic pulsing inside her. She needed to loose the power building inside her, but she couldn't reach him to touch and he seemed perfectly content teasing her, retaliation for her earlier demands. Such slow ministrations were maddening, and she was quickly losing her ability to play a game she knew too well, a game she'd _never _lost.

The solution came to her suddenly, and she let out gasp to draw his attention. The look he wore was one of supreme confidence. She would _not_ let him win the game. "Duncan?" She let her voice waver – it was easy to do, struggling as she was to give in to the urge to push him back and mount him – and the look in his eyes deepened. Barely suppressing a smile, Shara looked away, acting coy. "Please..."

Lips pressed against the inside of her knee, the sensation making her shiver in truth. Duncan said nothing, but his eyes were demanding she elaborate. He wanted _her_ to beg, he expected it, and he'd fallen so neatly into her trap. This time she _couldn't_ suppress the smile that formed. "Please me." It wasn't a plea, but a command.

Duncan fixed her with a look that was half-frustration, half-appraisal, as though he wasn't _quite_ sure whether he was going to conceded defeat so easily. Finally he leaned forward, eyes on hers as he lowered his mouth to her sex. Unbidden, Shara's breath quickened in anticipation, culminating in a held breath as his lips _finally_ met the heat between her legs. The moment his tongue flicked out, the breath was released, her body shuddering with the relief of finally being touched. Tangling her fingers in his loose hair, Shara rolled her hips against his mouth as she let her magic pour into him again – just enough to keep him satisfied without driving him to the edge of no return.

The more magic she channeled into him, the more he gave himself to her, licking and kissing with abandon, tongue delving inside her before trailing up to the small bundle of nerves, every flick making her legs twitch with pleasure. His beard brushed against her thighs, a dry, ticklish contrast to the slick strokes of his tongue. By the time Duncan slid a finger inside her again, Shara was writhing beneath him, torn between the need for more and the sudden sensation that it was all too much. A second finger joined the first, his lips closed around _that_ spot, and with a buck of her hips that was almost violent, everything inside her was drawn to the edge and thrust over.

As her vision cleared, Shara was panting hard, barely coherent of anything but the sound and feel of Duncan's breath against her thigh. He'd buried his face into the soft skin there, lips dancing against her skin while he whispered something too quiet for her to hear. He'd disentangled her hands from his hair – when, she didn't know – but they now gripped the bedroll as if her life depended on it.

Moments passed, their breathing the only sound breaking the quiet night, and it was with no small effort that Shara shifted enough to draw Duncan towards her. As he moved, he slowly turned his face to meet her and the gaze in his eyes was intense, the usually calm, clear look complete enveloped by the lust that nestled there now. The way he looked shifted something inside her, and she no longer thought – she simply _needed_.

* * *

The taste of Shara saturated his tongue, wet his beard, and Duncan dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. She grinned wickedly, taking the same hand, drawing it to her _own_ mouth and with a slow, lurid lick he watched as she licked her wetness from his skin. Her eyes never left his, only drifting half-way closed before she opened them again and the act was almost painfully enticing. Her magic had wreaked havoc on his senses, and he didn't entirely trust himself to take her, uncertain how long he could last if he were to set the pace. It was nothing like he remembered; the power had poured into him had deliberate purpose – the last mage's had been pleasant, if clumsy – and Shara's magic had sought out places that made his skin ripple with gooseflesh even as it kept his own fulfillment tantalizingly close, dangling _inside_ him from places he couldn't reach.

As she drew him down, by her side, he followed, entranced by her irresistible confidence. His limbs were trembling – whether from anticipation or exhaustion, he didn't know – and there was the smallest sensation of relief as she pressed on a shoulder, coaxing him to lie back. She mounted him much as she had earlier, but this time the look in her eyes told him there would be no more teasing. She needed the final fulfillment as much as he did. And it would be hers to take, as easily as she moved and shaped him to her needs. For once, Duncan would let himself be taken.

Soft, smooth fingers wrapped around his erection, and he barely bit back the whimper that formed in his throat. He could feel the heat of her body as she moved closer, and when he finally made contact with that slick center of heat, his breath caught. She shifted a moment, adjusting the angle of her body, and with one swift movement she engulfed him.

She arched back, breasts thrusting towards him as she let out a low, shuddering cry and tightened around him. The action drew a gasp from him and as she began to move _both _of them voiced their pleasure with wordless moans and shameless whimpers. Shara bent down to kiss him, her mouth pressing against his fiercely, tongue filling his mouth as she moved over him and he thrust to meet her. His hands drifted to her hips, gripping the soft curves hard as she took her pleasure.

As she tore away from his mouth with a ragged breath, _her_ hands wound their way into his hair again. He could feel her twitching and tightening around him, feel the tremor of muscles in her thighs as she rode him, and as her eyes closed with a quiet whimper, the magic seeped in again. It was different this time. There was no smooth torrent, but a pulsing, shifting sensation that matched the time of her thrusts. The harmony of the way she felt – inside and out – was a song he strove to match, each pulse propelling a reaction in his own hips as he rose to meet her.

The steady rhythm suddenly faltered, staggering along in uneven torrents, and Shara was _grinding_ against him as she chanted his name, barely able to form the sound without having it torn from her lips with a gasp that was almost a sob. Tightening the grip on her hips until he brought a cry, Duncan pulled her down over him and thrust with abandon, the long-held off precipice rapidly drawing towards him, the magic hastening and intensifying every move.

When Shara's head snapped back, Duncan let go, a split second before the power in him surged. He released deep inside her, eyes rolling back, body too rigid to move or breathe and he was entirely helpless, unable to speak or breathe or _think_ and the only thing in his mind was _her_.

Blinking sleepily, Duncan felt his breath return in a rush, his lungs aching the way they did after a breath held too-long. His body was limp, unheeding to his commands to move even a finger, yet it danced with sensation – the heat of Shara's body, the way she trembled _around_ him, her face pressed against his neck – and Duncan cast his eyes around, trying to focus on _anything_ that would anchor him to reality.

Shara chose that moment to shift – ever so slightly – and then it really _was_ too much. Letting out a quiet yelp, Duncan found his breaths coming short and ragged, spots dancing in his vision. He felt her lips curve against his neck and cursed her when she twitched her hips and tightened around him. "Sweet Maker, Shara, _please_ stay still." His voice was a low growl, and when she shifted again, he swatted her rump – an act that didn't help his predicament in the _least_.

That drew a laugh and a nip to the top of his shoulder. "Anything you say, Duncan." One of those slim, soft hands drew his face toward hers and she kissed him gently. "Anything you say."


End file.
